Sparks

From The Roots

Memorable writing that sparks imagination. Lean in. Hear the writer’s voice on the page. From The Roots By Su Shafer I need to let go of the uncertainty That I am anything else but a dragon. Just a little dragon A little wood dragon Hatched from a little crystal egg As green as the nest of moss it was laid in Carefully built in the cool leaf mould Gathered in the crook of Granny Maple’s Gnarled old roots. There is a fire in my heart But wood dragons are careful Creatures of the trees Where fire is seldom welcome. Shy as a brown creeper, Hiding in plain sight, Few people see me And the ones who do Can hardly believe it. Su Shafer is a creative crafter, fabricating bits of writing in poetry and short stories, and other bits into characters that appear in paintings or sit on various bookshelves…

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MissUnderstood Me

Memorable writing that sparks imagination. Lean in. Hear the writer’s voice on the page. MissUnderstood Me By Julie Sherman Not all dragons are fire-breathing, terrifying, scaley, menacing creatures. Folklore and fairytales have given us a bad name and have ruined our reputations.   Some of us are quite nice. Some are even meek. Some are mothers who just want to care for their young draglings in the dark, clammy caves of our homes.  Others are literally party animals and want to romp and roll in the mountains, scratching our backs on the rough terrain.  And most of us are kind.  Many of us go around helping other dragons fend off bully dragons who flap their immense, scabrous wings close to other dragons’ faces and blow smoke through their enormous nostrils and balls of fire through their mammoth mouths.  We are descendants of pterodactyl and t-rex, so we get our wide…

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Inflatable Snowman, A True Story

Memorable writing that sparks imagination. Lean in. Hear the writer’s voice on the page. Inflatable Snowman, A True Story By Su Shafer Across the street, the inflatable snowman is down laying on its side in the dirt by the porch its head still turning back and forth back and forth, back and forth looking from the cold black ground to the heavy belly of the leaden sky. It’s still smiling, but the smile seems  tentatively directed right at me silently saying “Hello?! No arms, no legs —  I’m not getting myself back on that porch!” and wondering why  I’m just standing here  Staring at it laying there  half deflated and helpless It starts to snow,  the only sound is the little motor in its head whirring, worrying  how bad is it going to get down here on the ground? Still smiling but desperate now. Why does she just stand there?…

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Dream Weaver

Memorable writing that sparks imagination. Lean in. Hear the writer’s voice on the page. Dream Weaver By Sarah Horton I dreamed the world was a place of love and harmony . . . Dream Lover . . . What dreams may come You are my dream lover – thinking of my love, my sweet heart . . . (song pops into my head) Dream The snow is falling . . . hard. The air is thick with it . . . in my nose. I wander on the path while the winds blow.  I slip, and almost lose my footing.  The pathway is blurred from the flakes and wind blowing. Soon, there is no side view or peripheral vision.   Instantly, only one foot in front of the other and I think— if I keep moving it will clear.  Clearly, I now step ahead — one foot, then another, and another.  …

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Shears

Memorable writing that sparks imagination. Lean in. Hear the writer’s voice on the page. Shears by Marian Van Horn I have been working on letting go of things that no longer serve me. Past hurts, painful experiences, things that cause me resentment or anger. Then I had this dream the other night.                                                          A small 5-year-old child is floating around a room. I am watching her. She is about a foot above the ground and moving effortlessly. She is focused on doing that and nothing else; enjoying the simple movement as children often do when absorbed in the present moment. When she floats by me, I ask, “How do you do that?” She looks down and says, “With these.” She pulls out a huge pair of silver shears. I am a little shocked because they are quite large and sharp and she’s only five years old, so I worry a bit,…

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Simple Joy

Memorable writing that sparks imagination. Lean in. Hear the writer’s voice on the page. Simple Joy By DSBriggs Joy is . . .   Hearing a tail thump when I walk in the room. Watching my dog at the dog park as he smiles and checks in before running off again.   Talking to my sister after a long period of silence. Being with my niece and her family.   Today, joy was sitting with a close friend, talking about family recipes, remembering how thankful I am for our friendship.   Shared laughter is joyous.   Some days joy is being outside on a good weather day. You know, warm but not too warm or cold but not too cold. The “why we live in California “ type day.   Joy, is seeing a tree in a different way and the interaction of sunlight and leaves. Joy is watching the mad…

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Offer It Up

Memorable writing that sparks imagination. Lean in. Hear the writer’s voice on the page. Offer it Up By Tracy L. Wood It was a catch phrase of my mother’s. Whether our sweater was itchy, or our new church shoes gave us blisters, or a sibling was teasing us, Mom’s standard reply was Offer it Up.  As a young person, this response was unsatisfying. It didn’t fix anything, and it felt dismissive. More often than not, I wanted her other catch phrase, which similarly didn’t fix anything. But at least Oh Honey came bearing sympathy. This was before Mom got involved in Al-Anon where she learned about the Serenity Prayer and to Let Go and Let God. In many ways those adages offer the same comfort, or challenge depending on one’s state of grace, and were simply another way of saying Offer it Up. I like Mom’s version better. I often hear Mom’s voice nudging me to…

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River Walk

Memorable writing that sparks imagination. Lean in. Hear the writer’s voice on the page. River Walk By Cheryl Moore As its tides ebb and flow following the moon’s journey across the sky—egrets, herons, sand pipers wade in the shallows on muddy banks mallards, coots, grebes paddle in the river flow, a night heron rousts on a birch tree branch.   In the distance fog slowly evaporates revealing the huge hump of Sonoma Mt its golden slopes patterned with dark green trees.   To and from my river walk I meet and greet dog walkers at Wickersham Park I pause to watch a dog sprinting after a ball his human has thrown he leaps in the air—a spirit of joy.   The park’s stately trees seem to smile to see such active exuberance.   Cheryl Moore grew up in the mid-west, went to college in San Francisco, then lived in foreign…

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Enduring Awe

Memorable writing that sparks imagination. Lean in. Hear the writer’s voice on the page. Enduring Awe By Karen FitzGerald What brings me joy? Riding my bike brings me joy. The wind in my face on a warm day, sailing through traffic jams piled up at those long, stop lighted intersections like Farmer’s Lane and Highway 12. I love it. I always feel child-like when I’m riding my bike. Recently, I’ve taken to singing while I cruise. Not too loud, but loud enough to feel the vibration of my voice ripple through my body, from throat to sternum to stomach and right on down my legs to my ankles as I pump my way up the Chanate hill. I especially love going off trail. That is, I am not a mountain biker. Oh no. Too hard on the back. In fact, any more I’m thinking mountain biking people are not fundamentally joyful people….

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The Sleeping Lady

Memorable writing that sparks imagination. Lean in. Hear the writer’s voice on the page. The Sleeping Lady By Tina Deason The earth in its dormancy is like a sleeping lady. Her make-up: the leaves, the flowers, and the vines, are washed away and her naked face is revealed. And like a sleeping woman, one can see the radiance that glows from within. Without the outer adornment, we see that beauty is skin deep. . . the bark on the trees, the moss on the ground, and the rosehips clinging to the bushes. All that was hidden or silently forming is now exposed. We find glory in the structure and smell the scent of Nature’s Night Cream wafting through the air. Without the blanket of sunshine, we realize the bareness of earth’s body, with angles and curves we neglected to see before. Now we reach out to caress them and notice…